


Catharsis

by RetconRenegade



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcoholism, Bertolt x writer’s block, Gen, I’m British-born so they’re British too, Modern AU, Multi, Reibert if you really squint, Reiner x Suffering, writer Bertolt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetconRenegade/pseuds/RetconRenegade
Summary: “You may not be interested in War. But War is interested in you.”Reiner refuses to remember the past. He just wants to achieve normalcy. Bertolt demands for the past to be remembered. He needs to be able to live with what he has done.Zeke has other plans.





	1. Drugs Are Better Than Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ed Sheeran and Rudimental for inspiring this story. 
> 
> Further listening and chapter name origin: Drugs with Friends by Car Seat Headrest. 
> 
> Funnily enough, I started writing this in August 2016, way back before Reiner’s time-skip suffering. It just happens to fit with what’s happening in SNK now.

Reiner

1: the beginning - drugs are better than friends   
_ (Listen - Bloodstream, Rudimental and Ed Sheeran) _

Another glass, another bottle, another night drinking away his sorrows as if inebriation was the way to solve his problems.

Reiner felt jaded, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Actually, scratch that - there was a hell of a lot that he could do, but nothing he was actually willing to. Nothing that was worth doing.

He got up off of his sofa and went towards the fridge, the only action that was guaranteed to happen every single day. Sometime throughout the day - usually in the evening, he wasn't that undignified to drink at midday - he'd go to his fridge, get something to drink and drink it.

Maybe he'd play some music, or switch on the TV; that made what he was doing seem a little more normal. He'd do that into the night and into the morning, whenever he passed out and wherever. Reiner had mastered the art of sleeping almost anywhere, so it was never a problem if his kitchen floor suddenly became his bed.

Besides, his will to wake up was surpassed by his craving for the euphoric numbness of alcohol. So he didn't mind the hangover. Every morning was like that, so it wasn't like he wasn't used to it.

Opening the fridge door, he squinted at the seemingly blinding brightness that it spewed out. After blinking a few times, he realised that his only choices were a can of beer or some merlot. Not exactly the kind of thing he was hoping for.

He closed the fridge.

Wavering for a second, his cupboard was the next place to be inspected. Aha - this was more like it. Tennessee honey, neat whiskey, and some vodka.

_Hmm_.

Tennessee Honey it was, then. Reiner grabbed it out of the cupboard quickly and reached for a glass, filling it up to the top and quickly sending it down his throat.

His weekend had been pretty shit so far. He hadn't been to the store in days and his food supply was running low. He hadn't seen another person since last Thursday.

He grabbed the bottle of Tennessee Honey, went to sit down on his sofa, and clicked on the remote for his stereo system. What song was this? He couldn't remember the lyrics, the tune sounded familiar...

He couldn't pin a name to it.

Man, he was bored. He didn't have a job anymore. What else was there to do?

He thought, _hey, why not find someone to love again? Krista was lovely._

But she was Ymir now, and happier than she would ever be with him. Ymir was one lucky piece of shit, emphasis on _piece of shit,_ because she really was one. As if it was okay to just out him and all his issues once she'd figured them out? What kind of person does that?

Granted, he was supposed to get 'help', as Krista called it, after Ymir's wonderful diagnosis.

He saw the doctor about once before he decided that he didn't need a shrink, that Dr Zoe was creepy, invasive and a know-it-all. Fuck her 'dissociative amnesia' bullshit. Multiple Personality Disorder - as if that was really a thing.

He was hungry, but the only things in his damned fridge were drinks and some tomato sauce.

The only way he was able to feed himself - and his addiction, if you really wanted to call it that - was the money that Zeke was sending him for his 'work'. He hadn't done a 'job' for him in quite some time but the money from the ones he did do was a lot. He guessed that Zeke knew better than to just pay him all at once, or maybe it was Bert- Bertolt.

Bertolt.

Reiner grabbed his phone, sloppily entering his password, going into his contacts; Bertolt's name was near the top, in between Annie and Connie.

Why did he still have Connie's number? They hadn't seen each other since he got married to Sasha, and even then, they didn't talk much during the time between then and their high school days.

At least he'd done well for himself, right? Studying PE at university, planning to teach kids how to play sports: this guy had his shit together.

Unlike Reiner.

He pressed on Bertolt's contact and let his phone ring out on loud speaker. Hearing Bertolt's voice for the first time in a while would be nice. Nice, but painful.

Where did it all go wrong?

"Hello?"

"Bertolt?"

"Oh. Oh, uh, hey, Reiner," Bertolt mumbled, dragging out the "hey".

"How are you doing?" Reiner asked, somewhat scared as to what the other man was going to say.

"Not bad. What about you?"

"Not great, to be honest," sighing, Reiner did his best to feign genuine illness without sounding drunk.

"Oh, what's the matter? Has something happened? Are you sick?" Bertolt's voice rose about an octave in what sounded like concern, at least to Reiner. Just hearing Bertolt's voice in general was relieving, for it had been some time since the last time they had spoken.

"I think so. I had I migraine for most of this morning and afternoon, and yesterday I spent the day chucking up anything that I tried to eat... I've not got anything in my fridge."

"Have you c-called a doctor?"

"I've been sick."

"Oh, yes, of course, sorry about that. Alright, I'll be over in about 45 minutes - let me finish up what I'm working on and pop into a store for you. Text me whatever you need and I'll bring them over."

Bertolt's work as an author hadn't taken off yet. It was a career choice that he'd suddenly made after they all stopped doing 'jobs' for Zeke, claiming that he'd "wanted to do it all along". Reiner didn't believe a word of it, but at least he was trying to move on.

"Thanks a lot, Bertolt. I'll do just that."

"No problem, I'll see you soon."

"Goodb-"

His phone beeped as Bertolt hung up.

It was nice to see that he hadn’t changed. He was still the same old nervous, stuttering, caring best friend that he was in high school. It was nice to know that some people could be relied on. It’s not like Reiner could rely on Connie to maintain their friendship. Bastard was too consumed in his own perfect life to care about his old buddy. Dumb shit with his gluttonous wife.

Since Bert - no, Bertolt - was about to turn up, he might as well have made the place a little more homely. The apartment seemed to turn cold and the sofas just a little more cracked and worn. That lousy rug was threadbare, and the wallpaper? It was rather garish, when he thought about it.

More things to add to his list of failures. The list that included his A-Levels, his relationship with Krista, his friendships with Connie, Eren, Annie. His job with Zeke.

His everything with Bertolt.

God, was he a lousy human who lived on a lousy plain of existence.

Getting up from the sofa, Reiner sighed and looked at the door. The door which Bertolt would be walking through soon. It would be the first time, wouldn’t it? A cushy, modern apartment made a difference from his mother’s crummy little house in crappy little Liberio. Lord knows she tried to make it a safe place for him, but it was nice to get out of there. Hopefully Gabi would get out of there one day, too, and know that there happens to be more to life than being angry at the world’s injustices.

There happens to be more to life than drinking it away, too. Reiner saw that. Shame he didn’t act on it.

Forcing himself to see sense was horrid enough, but sobriety was worse.

 


	2. Fake Smiles and Nervous Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we see Bertolt. Unfortunately, he’s not having a good time either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is so short. Think of it as an intermediary chapter. No song, because it’ll take you a minute to read this. 
> 
> Name origin: Fake Smiles and Nervous Laughter, Weezer (My least favourite bonus track)

Bertolt 

2: a spanner in the works - fake smiles and nervous laughter

Bertolt's phone rang next to him, for the first time in a week. Oh, how he hoped that it was Annie. All his messages were left on read, but she couldn't seem to call him back. Well, it was more like she wouldn't. So he gave up on contacting her and channelled that determination - more like desperation - into writing.

Days and days of isolation went by, and he'd actually been productive. If only the end product was actually good. But it beat putting shower heads together every day. And it beat working for Zeke.

If he'd told anyone that his life extended past that joyless job in the factory, then they would all ask him the same question, a question which Porco, Pieck, and even Zeke himself had asked him:

_What business has a nice guy like you got with a highly dangerous mobster?_

And the answer to that? Well, you know what they say - desperate times, desperate measures. Things weren't looking up in Bertolt's life. Things often neglected to even take a glance upwards.

So when his phone rang, a little flicker of hope ignited within him. Maybe, just maybe it was Annie, ready to hear his apology, or even an editor, looking for one of his short stories. It could have been the big break he was looking for. Hell, it didn't even need to be big. He just wanted a break.

It was none of those. It wasn't even a number he had saved on his phone. Hopes dashed, Bertolt sighed and looked at it for a second.

He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Bertolt?" His eyes widened at the sound of the other person's voice. But surely, he would have deleted his number by now? Forgotten about him, and moved on?

Evidently not.

“Oh,” Bertolt laughed, for no apparent reason. “Hey Reiner.”


	3. ex-friends to the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bertolt misses Annie and Reiner misses Bertolt (and Krista). There's a whole lot of people missing other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name origin: Bang the Doldrums, Fall Out Boy
> 
> The lead singer of Pinegrove said that Cadmium is about how it feels when you don't say how you're feeling and your thoughts build up in your head. Pretty similar to this chapter, I'd say.

 

 

 

 

Bertolt

_3: a reunion - ex-friends to the end_

_(Listen - Cadmium, Pinegrove)_

 

Locking his car behind him, Bertolt turned to face the apartment block. Greystone House. Not aptly named, but that was a trivial detail. It seemed like a nice enough place to live - exposed brown brick, a little garden in the front of the building, balconies on the apartments, things like that. Looking at the block of apartments, it now made much more sense to Bertolt why Reiner moved out of his family home - Greystone House was everything that the whole of Liberio wasn’t.

He looked at the multiple texts Reiner had sent him:

 

_I live at 13 Greystone House (MA1 2WT)_

_-_

_Groceries: bread, milk, oranges, apple juice, butter, eggs, carrots, lettuce, chocolate chip biscuits, freezer fries, muesli_

_-_

_Oh and some yogurt too (just plain)_

_-_

_Thanks for all this Bertolt_

_-_

_What would I do without a friend like you aha_

Friend? Calling him a friend was certainly a stretch, alright. Best friends once, but not anymore. The more Bertolt thought about it, the more this whole thing seemed stupid. They hadn’t spoken since he quit. Reiner started dating Krista, and Bertolt started dating Annie, after all those years of crushing on her. They didn’t need each other anymore.

Well, until today, that was.

Picking up the bags of groceries and walking up to the door, Bertolt thought about what he was going to say. _“Hey Reiner, how have you been?”_ No, too... generic. There’s so much he could answer to that.

_“Hey, Reiner, how’s your temperature? Do we need to go to A &E?”_ Too much concern, perhaps? Reiner would probably say that he was overreacting, ‘as he always did’.

_"Hey, Reiner. Here’s your shopping. I don’t really want to stay and chat, so I’ll be on my way.”_ As much as Bertolt wanted to say that, he really obviously couldn’t. Reiner was too... fragile, for what he thought was a serious lack of a better word. 

He looked at the keypad of door numbers. 13? Not on this part of the building. With a sigh, Bertolt walked around to the other door. To his relief, 13 was on this keypad. He pressed the number and waited as the buzzer rang out. After two or so rings, it stopped.

“Hello?”

“Reiner, it’s me.”

“Ah, yeah, come on up, man.”

Leaning on the door - purely because Reiner’s groceries were almost as heavy as his sins - Bertolt felt it unlock underneath him. He pushed it open to reveal the hallway of inside Greystone House. It was carpeted with thin squares of blue polypropylene, and the walls were cream and covered with paintings. They looked like the kind Annie used to create in her spare time. Difficult to interpret, but beautiful all the same.

God, why did he have to be so weak? 

Bertolt walked through to number 13 - Reiner’s door. He looked at it for a good few seconds and then knocked. At the sound of his knock, he could hear someone moving inside, a violent swear, and then the key in the lock.

The door opened.

Reiner stood in the doorway, and in Bertolt’s honest opinion, (something which resided in his mind and never got a chance to be let out) he looked exactly how he expected him too. Maybe it was bad that he anticipated Reiner to be so... unkempt.

Reiner was pale and his eyes were sunken, circles marring the bright amber of them. The colour of his eyes was unsettling. The way they managed to be so bright still, despite the fact that his face said the complete opposite. He obviously hadn’t shaved in a couple weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t _changed his clothes_ in a couple of weeks too, because his t-shirt was marked with questionable stains of various colours, and the same could be said for his sweatpants.

“Hey, Bert.”

Bertolt snapped his focus back to the fact that Reiner was actually there to talk to him.

“Hi, Reiner...” Bertolt looked at Reiner’s socked feet. “Sorry I took so long.” Bertolt didn’t take long. He left his house at 8. It was currently 8:25, according to his watch. What he said wasn’t anything of substance. Something had to fill the silence before it got too awkward.

“Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t even notice. Thanks, man, you really did me a massive favour.” He reached down and took the bags of groceries from Bertolt’s hands. “Come on in.”

Reiner went back into his apartment. Bertolt followed, slowly and warily. It felt intrusive, for some irrational reason. Maybe Krista was in there. Perhaps she’d just woken up. Wait, no. Maybe she was going to bed - that would make much more sense. That would be embarrassing; to walk in, only to see Krista half-naked in a nightgown.

_Jeez, Bertolt. You’ve only been split up for a month. Get a grip on your imagination._

Krista wasn’t in there. In fact, along with the absence of her, was the absence of many other things. They had a sofa, a worn-looking rug in front of it, a tv, and a sound system. That was it for the living room. No photos, no ornaments or decorations or anything like that.

Still following Reiner, Bertolt found himself in their kitchen. It followed suit with the lounge: couple of cupboards, a small table, fridge-freezer, standard kitchen appliances.

Nothing else.

Reiner was never much of a decorations guy. His bedroom in Liberio never had any posters on the walls. Bertolt could remember it clearly - it was a small box room with beige walls, and a laminate, faux-wooden floor. A single bed sat in one corner, a desk another, a wardrobe in the other.

It was a strange thing to remember so vividly. Talk about selective memory.

The more Bertolt saw of the apartment, the less he could believe that Krista lived here. Another thought that wouldn’t leave the safety of his mind.

Reiner discarded his groceries unceremoniously in the corner of the kitchen. That wasn’t how groceries were meant to be treated, but once again, Bertolt kept his mouth shut. He followed Reiner out of the kitchen again. Reiner took a seat on the sofa, and patted the space next to him.

As Bertolt sat, he barely touched the sofa before Reiner threw his arm around Bertolt’s shoulder, embracing him tightly.

_That was unexpected._

Reiner loosened his grip sheepishly. “Sorry. I should have at least given you a warning.”

“It’s alright.” Bertolt laughed stiffly. “How’ve you been?”

“Well,” Reiner sighed. “I told you about my fever.”

“Yeah, is that getting any better?”

“I guess. Maybe it’s just because it’s winter.”

“Maybe. I’m surprised Krista doesn’t have you under strict medical observation.” Having a nurse for a girlfriend must come in handy. Must be better than having an artist for a girlfriend. _Even better than having an artist for an ex._ “Where is she, anyway?”

“Oh, uh...” Reiner faltered. “Spain.” He said quickly. “She went on holiday with Ymir, and Hannah and Mina and some others from uni. She’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“Oh.” Bertolt nodded. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. Obviously, I couldn’t join them because one of us needs to work to be able to pay for this place.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Asda. Pretty boring, but it pays enough for us to live. How’s Annie?”

That question made Bertolt look at his trainers, which needed a serious clean, now that he got a chance to inspect them. White trainers were never practical, but that’s not what you think about when you buy them

“Well...” Bertolt exhaled. “We broke up.”

“Why? You guys were so good together!”

“We just had different paths that we wanted to take.” _Lies, lies, lies. If only that was what happened._

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Reiner rubbed his shoulder in sympathy, and then got up. “Want a drink?”

“Um... what kind?”

“Whatever you want. I’ve got some wine, some whiskey, liquor...”

“Something non-alcoholic?”

“Come on, dude. You’ve just gotten dumped. The least you can do is drown your sorrows on a Friday night.”

_Yeah, well, I already did that with my own tears the night she left._

“No, I’m good, thanks. I’ll just have some water.”

Reiner rolled his eyes playfully. “Classic Bertolt. Always the sensible one.” He went into the kitchen.

Sat by himself, Bertolt decided to have a little look at the few CDs that sat on top of Reiner’s sound system. He picked up the first CD and- The Beatles? When did Reiner ever like them? If Bertolt could recall correctly (which he could, and he always did) Reiner was an “anything modern” kind of guy.

Putting the CD case down, he picked up the remaining stack and filtered through them: The Beach Boys, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, David Bowie?

Reiner _hated_ David Bowie. His mother used to play his music incessantly. Bertolt wasn't really sure how anyone could hate David Bowie but being forced to listen to _Starman_ over and over probably made his voice seem a bit grating. Oh well. Reiner could listen to whatever he wanted to, however out-of-character it seemed. It was like he was attempting to write over his old self, starting with a new music taste, new, patchy facial hair and a new, awful dress sense. A strange place to start, but some people’s tastes are almost synonymous with them.

Wait.

_The Beatles? David Bowie?_

_Marcel._

Porco used to tease Marcel all the time about how he had the music taste of their dead grandfather. That shouldn't have been funny, but the morbidly humorous nature of it made Bertolt snicker a little under his breath. 5 years passed quicker than he could have ever imagined it to, and maybe Reiner was just trying to bring back memories of that time.

Reiner walked in, holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. "One boring water for you, Bert, and one Tennessee honey for me, which is much more exciting,” Reiner teased as he sat down next to Bertolt and handed him his water. He barely sat down before he started on his own drink.

“Steady on, Reiner, it’s only eight.”

“Yeah, and?” Reiner took another swig.

Berlolt sighed. He was doing the clueless stubborn thing again. “What’s with all the old-timey CDs? I didn’t think you liked that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a while since you last talked to me.” _Wow, that’s an incredibly one-sided way to put it._

“Suppose so.” Bertolt drained his glass and set it down on the floor next to his foot.

Silence.

Awkward, lingering, heavy silence. Reiner’s clock on the wall in front of them became interesting. This was a frustrating cycle: saying something, conversation fizzling out, then examining a boring part of Reiner’s dull home decor to him saying any more.

“How’s your dad?” It didn’t work.

“Good. How’s Karina?”

“Good too. She’s got her hands full with Gabi though.”

Bertolt stretched his legs out, but they didn’t go very far without hitting the coffee table. “How so?” He asked, wincing.

“I think Zeke’s got his claws into her. She’s very angsty and ‘screw the government’ these days.”

_Sounds a lot like you when you were a kid, then. Sounds a lot like most of us, actually. You don’t_ realise _how naïve you are until you stop thinking like that._

“Have you spoken to her?”

“...not yet. But I will, though. Sometime. Eventually.” Reiner shrugged, pouring himself some more whiskey. The rate at which he consumed the drink was like he hadn’t drank for an age. It would be a poor choice of drink for the dehydrated, though.

“You probably should. Don’t let her become like us.”

Reiner just took another sip of his drink.

_God, Bert. Why, why, why did you have to go and say that? Way to make it awkward. That’s a grade A in Social Skills, buddy._

“How’s your writing going?” Reiner said, wisely choosing to change the subject. _It’s a skill he’s been honing since Year Seven._

“Alright. I got a decent amount for this article I wrote about the price of diesel. Truly thrilling stuff.” Bertolt deadpanned.

“Must be more interesting than working at the pizza counter. I envy you.” _Another sip._

Bertolt nodded and looked at his watch. _21:53. God, is that the time?_

He got up.

“It was nice seeing you again, Reiner, but I’ve got to go.” He picked his glass up and placed it on the table hastily. “Say hi to Krista for me, alright?”

Reiner was already out of his seat too. “I will. Oh, come here, man. I’ve missed you.” He held his hand out. Bertolt looked at it, shiny with sweat, then at Reiner, his eyes bright, hopeful, and a little bloodshot. He smiled weakly.

“So have I.” He took Reiner’s hand as they handshake-hugged.

A classic way to show that he cared, but not too much, and that had his life totally under control without needing Bertolt.

The stench of alcohol on him said otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: David Bowie is a national treasure (RIP) and I don’t see how anyone could hate him.
> 
> Not going to lie, I really enjoyed that "heavy as his sins" line. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s read this.


	4. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nostalgia in a chapter. Reiner’s in denial, and Bertolt can’t stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever wondered what happened to the rest of the 104th, you’re about to find out. 
> 
> Chapter origin is just the same as the song. Also, more Pinegrove - the whole Cardinal album is just nostalgia in an LP. Go listen to it.

Reiner

4: News - Old Friends  
_(Listen - Old Friends, Pinegrove)_

  
Two weeks passed before Reiner couldn’t bear the loneliness anymore. His life was monotonous in the worst, most depressing way. This monotony was not a comfortable cycle of events. This monotony was born from the fact that he had nothing else to do with his life. Every single day was: _wake up-drink-work-home-drink-bed-can’t sleep-drink till he falls asleep._

Fresh air did wonders for his psyche. Living in what was essentially a ghetto when he was younger meant that there wasn’t much healthy air. It got to the point where he was numb to the sour stench of cigarettes and drugs and anything else that people got their hands on. There was no wonder that he was depressed. All the fumes probably just messed with his brain. There you go, Dr Zoe - many plausible explanations that make much more sense than yours.

In those two weeks, it never occurred to Reiner that he could have been standing were he was standing now.

He knew each crack in the old pavement slabs like the lines in the palm of his hand; where not to step, which slabs should avoid because he could to trip on them. Where to cross the road, and where not to.

That wasn’t his own wisdom. Marco had to pay the price for them all learning that.

Looking up at the sign, _Rose Academy_ , caused shame to run through Reiner. Only three years ago, he was probably stood in the same place, talking to Connie or someone else, planning on going to the gym, (when was the last time he even bothered to regain all that muscle mass he lost?) or just living a regular old teenage life. Gods, his downfall was probably the worst fall from grace that anyone had ever seen. From a popular guy who everyone loved, to what?

A pathetic, lonely mess.

“This place brings back quite a bit, doesn’t it?” Bertolt sighed wistfully. “I wonder how Armin is doing. I spoke to him about a year ago, after his gap year. He’s doing sociology. The right choice for someone as clever as him,” he said, not to Reiner in particular.

He and Reiner kept walking. Not saying anything, but the comfortable silence shared with someone familiar was good enough. The quiet rustling of the leaves echoed through street.

“I’ve got to see how Eren‘s doing. I haven’t spoken to him since A-Levels.” Eren was a friend once. Before Krista, and Dr Zoe, and the drinks.

Bertolt was staring at him. Brows furrowed, sweaty forehead. It was one of those bewildered, frightened stares that he did whenever Reiner said something slightly unsettling.

“Reiner... Eren died last year.”

Reiner stopped walking.

“What?”

“Yeah. He joined the army after school. Got shot in the chest. Died in hospital. Don’t you remember?“

“Nobody told me.”

“Oh.” Bertolt looked away.

“How did _you_ find out?”

“We went to the funeral. Everybody was there, apart from you, Krista, Ymir, and Daz.”

_Daz? Who the hell is Daz?_

“Daz?”

“You know Daz. He was a nervous kid in our form. He was scared of everything. Legend says he’s still in his mum’s basement to this day.” Bertolt snickered at his own joke. Reiner laughed too, half-heartedly, and absently kicked a cluster of leaves.

“Yeah, he was given a real send-off, though. The convoy was lead by the military, had all the other personnel there with their rifles. Twenty-one gun salute and all of that.” Bertolt sighed. “Oh God, it was so sad.”

Reiner touched his shoulder gently. “It’s okay, Bert. I get it.” Bertolt nodded and they began to walk again. Reiner felt a pang of jealousy as he thought about what Bertolt had just said. Why hadn’t anyone bothered to try and get a hold of him? If not Bertolt, fine. They weren’t even on speaking terms for a good part of a year. But it sounded like Connie went. Reiner has the courtesy to turn up at Connie’s wedding and he couldn’t even let him know that Eren had died, which was yet another reason why Reiner had every right to hate Connie.

Selfish prick.

Soon enough, they’d reached it. The clusters of flowers, some wilting, but many others fresh. The rusty photo frame, containing a photo of him smiling (as he always did, his little smiley act had everyone melt) with his parents. The bench in his name. He was still loved by everyone, even after death.

_In Memoriam:_  
Marco Bott (16th June 1997 - 2nd April 2012)  
Never forgotten

The pair stood, looking at the display of affection towards their dead classmate. Despite never being friends with either of them, Marco’s absence brought back that feeling. The age of innocence, dead alongside him. That feeling hung in the street, heavy with grief and almost pointless regrets.

“Reiner.”

Reiner looked Bertolt’s way.

“Why are we here?” He said.

“I just-“

“Don’t try and push the guilt on me again. Not when you refuse to feel it.”

Looking sternly at the memorial as he said this, his brows fluctuated from being furrowed and not. His mouth quivered out of its hard-set line before he corrected it again.

_Poor guy can’t even convingly act angry._

Reiner frowned at him in almost comic confusion. “Bertolt, I have no idea what you’re on about. I’ve just come here to pay my respects to Marco. I don’t know whatever’s making you upset but Jesus, Marco’s dead-“

“I wonder whose fault that is?” His voice dripped with caustic sarcasm.

Concern and a feeling not dissimilar to fear welled up in Reiner’s chest. Whatever happened to Bertolt being the calm and kind one? So much for that when he wouldn’t even let Reiner grieve.

“The idiots who ran over him, of course.”

“Reiner, do you even remember what happened the day before Marco died?”

“‘Course I do,” Reiner shrugged. “Eren and Jean had a fight and I broke it up.”

Bertolt sighed sharply in frustration. “ _After_ school.”

“We talked. And then he came over to us-“

_Shut your mouth, Marco. Don’t say another word. You’ll regret it if you do._

_Okay. Okay, okay. Sorry. Forget I heard anything. What were you guys on about again? Haha..._

“And?”

“Look, Bert, I don’t see what good this will-“

“Say it. Say. It.”

“He found us out, so-“

A car came racing down the road towards them.

_Sneaky bastard._

“Did you set me up? Bertolt, I swear, if this is a-“

“It’s not! I wouldn’t do that-“

“Then why are _they_ -“

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen them in a year!”

The car screeched to a halt in front of them. Dark, stylish, sleek, but nothing remarkable.

Reiner was practically shitting his pants. He wasn’t supposed to be hunting him out so soon. Zeke gave him three weeks to pick himself up and become _slightly less_ pathetic, enough to begin “work” again. Whatever that “work” would be, he’d have to do it. Silencing someone? Easy. Armed robbery? He’d done it before. Murder? A seasoned veteran. He could graduate with a firsts in murder without even trying.

Glancing at Bertolt, his sweat glands had geared into overdrive. It seemed like he too was inches away from soiling himself.

The window rolled down.

“I didn’t expect to see you two here,” Pieck smirked in amusement. “Of _all_ places.”

“Hey, Pieck,” Bertolt mumbled, dragging out the _hey_. Whilst Bertolt seemed to be freaking out still, Reiner breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t Zeke. He was a free man for just a little longer.

“You’re looking very healthy, Braun,” Porco said from the passenger seat, with all the condescension in the world. “What’s your secret?”

“Porco!”

“What? It’s too funny. They’re at the memorial of the guy that they got killed.”

“Not so loud, Galliard, if you don’t mind,” Bertolt hissed through his teeth.

“Why? If anyone heard us, they wouldn’t say anything. That’s a death sentence.”

_For Marco, it was a death sentence either way_.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Reiner finally spoke up.

“Looking for you, Braun. Someone wants to have a word with you.”

Reiner felt himself go cold.

“His name starts with ‘Z’ and ends in ‘-Eke’.”

_Shit, shit, shit... I’m as good as dead. But I told him I’d be round soon, and that I’d do whatever he told me to, and that I was sorry, and that-_

“Alright, when is he expecting me?”

“Today. We’re here to escort you. Come on, hop in,” Pieck gestured towards the door. “You too, Bertolt.”

Unwillingly cooped up next to Bertolt in the back of Pieck’s Maserati, Reiner opened up his phone. He had to read the message. Once more before he faced him.

_Hello Braun. You better be ready to pay what you owe me. Just remember what happened to all those that didn’t._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a horrible habit of killing off Eren in my fics where there’s a timeskip. With Marco, I just feel like he has to be killed by Reiner and Bertolt somehow. 
> 
> Bertolt got angry in this, an emotion we never really saw from him in the manga. It was a little difficult to write and I’m sorry if it seems OOC. 
> 
> Also, in case anyone was wondering, Pieck’s car is a Maserati Quattroporte.


End file.
